


Bitter Dreams

by rose_coloured



Series: The knife to his throat [3]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Mentions of Violence, once again, the kavinsky/ronan is one-sided, the stuff the dreampack does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 02:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12520932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_coloured/pseuds/rose_coloured
Summary: For him he was perfect.A perfect dream, at least.But apparently, dreams were also able to feel jealousy.





	Bitter Dreams

The summer heat burnt on Prokopenko's skin and he had to close his eyes.   
The hundreds of stark white Mitsubishi around him almost blinded him. Somewhere in the distance he heard what was probably an explosion, but didn't really care what was happening. Right now he was way too comfortable, spread over the hood of another Mitsubishi, Kavinsky's newest addition to his collection.   
He had somehow fucked it up and the car was likely to be blown up in the next days. What a shame, Proko actually liked it quite a bit.   
But he liked almost everything Kavinsky had dreamed up.

The cars, the drugs, the firework.   
Himself.   
Well no, he didn't like himself that much. When he had first opened his eyes again, laying on Kavinsky's bed his friends had looked at him with disgust.   
Skov had punched him, Swan had spit him in the face before Proko had even been able to ask what was wrong. Then they had lunged themselves at Kavinsky. Shouting so loud and fast it had been impossible to understand what they were going on about.  
It had been Kavinsky, of course, who else, who had told him. About the fireworks gone wrong, about the fire and about himself dying.   
Proko was dead, had been dead for almost a week, until Kavinsky had woken up one morning with this dream thing next to him. That was him now.  
No longer himself but one of Kavinsky's dream things.   
A new forgery.   
Hopefully his favorite one.

It had taken a little about a week, for everything to mostly go back to normal. The other guys had taken their time to stop tip-toeing around him with disgusted expressions. Still, there was some tension in the air. Prokopenko felt weird in his body, very aware of what he was.   
One day Kavinsky had just snapped. He couldn't remember what it had been that had enraged the other boy. But when Kavinsky had held his knife to Prokopenko's throat growling “Don't think just because you died once I wouldn't kill you again. I could bring you back and kill you again and again. So shut your dirty mouth.” they just were over it.   
With a little bit of blood dripping from the smaller boy's skin, the whole affair had been settled. Skov had joked about blood magic before Kavinsky had hit him square in the face. So yeah maybe there had been more blood shed that day.   
So what? Proko had been dead, yeah shocking thing.   
But now he was back, where he had been before. Always at Kavinsky's side, more often than not decorated with bruises and hickeys all over his body. He was back to riding shotgun in another white Mitsubishi, that would be ruined by the end of the night and he was back to being the first one to try any new drug the other boy had dreamed up. That he trusted Kavinsky that much, had led to Skov and Swan cornering him once.   
The pills would kill him someday.  
He didn't know what Kavinsky had dreamed when he brought them back.   
He shouldn't trust him so blindly.   
But Prokopenko did because if he died Kavinsky would bring him back. He would bring him back anytime and that made Prokopenko feel reckless. 

And Proko was also back to being thrown out the car, whenever he appeared. 

While Proko did his best to please Kavinsky, Ronan Lynch actually despised him. He had made it clear more than often enough, that whatever there was between them it didn't root from any friendly feelings.   
Proko knew that Kavinsky ignored it.

Prokopenko straight up hated when Lynch showed up with his bored expression and underlying aggression he wanted to get rid off. Kavinsky was the perfect match for this. Fists found cheekbones, elbows collided with temples and somewhere along the way Ronan and Kavinsky had turned beating the shit out of each other into making out. That was usually the cue for everyone to better leave them alone.   
Proko hated it, he wanted to claim Kavinsky for himself, the way it had been the other way around. But no he ended up backing away from the scene, silently hating Ronan and whatever it was about him that mesmerized Kavinsky about him.

Today was one of those days. Proko could hear Ronan's BMW from far, soon the sleek black car came to a halt next to him. Ronan exited his car a murderous expression on his face. When he spotted Proko he sneered.   
“Where's Kavinsky?” His voice was strained, he looked like he had been working all morning in the sun.   
On good days Ronan was easy to piss off.   
On bad days he was a bomb always 5 seconds before going off.   
Today was not a good day and 4 seconds had already passed.  
Prokopenko frowned. “I don't know, Lynch, I'm not his fucking lapdog.”  
That comment only made the other boy laugh and answer: “Oh you are. But I don't care. And he doesn't care as well.”  
Proko thought about punching him in the face without a warning. He wondered how that would turn out. Ronan was stronger than him by far. He was taller and also experienced. 

Ronan was used to fighting back, Proko had never seen the appeal of that. He was used getting stepped on.  
Would Kavinsky be on his side?   
No. He would probably just enjoy watching Proko getting beaten to death.   
And then maybe dream him back.   
The mere thought made Proko grit his teeth. Ronan stayed where he was, leaned against the hood of his car, fumbling with the leather bracelets on his wrist. A sly grin decorated his expression.   
Fucker.  
How well he fitted into this whole setting.   
Another rich boy with a fast car. Another fucking dreamer. Somebody special. Somebody who wasn't as easily replaceable as Proko himself was. He was not less dangerous than Kavinsky. With Ronan it was fewer drugs and more monsters, still, it was exciting. He should go back to his prep friends and his trailer park trash boy.   
Proko wanted to take a bat and smash that perfect, black, probably dreamed up BMW first and then Ronan's head until there was nothing left to make Kavinsky think of anyone but him.


End file.
